The Jump Journal

by Douglas Corriveau

  The End.

  Psych. You didn’t really think I’d leave you hanging after you made it this far, did you? Oh man…I’m laughing so hard I’m crying. Please ignore any splash marks on the page.

  I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve never had someone read my innermost thoughts and personal moments before, and even if it’s you, I had to throw a little of my bizarre humor in there to keep things light. Sorry.

  Back to your regularly scheduled journal.

  I’d like to say that taking a break from the college student lifestyle had taught me gratitude and respect for the hallowed pursuit of education. To properly sympathize with how I really felt, please press your lips together and forcefully blow through them until you get that “raspberry” sound. Returning to academia was about as exciting as trimming my fingernails, which I didn’t dare do in class. A sharp object like that provided too much temptation to slit my throat out of boredom. Seriously, after the life that I’d led, classrooms were about as exciting as prison cells. I’d been a bad student before, but now it took every ounce of willpower just to sit still for a ninety-minute lecture.

  That’s not to say that I got bad grades. I scored 80’s or higher on every test that I took without ever cracking a book. No, I wasn’t jumping. I had taken these classes twice before, not to mention the fact that I had more life experience to draw on than anyone else at Ohio State. I was doing well. I was social, my GPA was good, and to all outward appearances, I was an average kid muddling his way through college. It was exactly what I’d hoped people would see.

  The only person that my performance didn’t fool was me. After the day’s activities, I went back to my dorm and let the façade drop like a greased bowling ball. That moment of closure weeks earlier had been wonderful, but it hadn’t changed the fact that this little bit of theater was going to be my life from now on. Class followed class, chased by extracurriculars and pick-up soccer games in the gym. Day in, day out. Worst of all, I still hadn’t come to any clear decision about Tara. It should have been simple. There were two options: talk to her or don’t. It was that straightforward, but every time the topic crossed my mind………well, let me give you a snippet of mental dialogue.

  Hey, Tara’s class gets out at two, maybe we should-

  Wow, check out this video of a chimpanzee playing “America the Beautiful” on the kazoo!

  Are you trying to change the subject?

  Nooooooooo! Never! By the way, how hungry are you?

  …Pretty hungry. I should eat.

  And so on. I became my own worst enemy, and I knew exactly how to avoid an unpleasant mental conversation. I saw her around though, which was saying something. Ohio State is massive. The fact that I managed to catch a glimpse of her more than twice a week would have been astounding if it hadn’t been intentional.

  I wouldn’t call it stalking. Seriously, don’t call it that. I just wanted to see her, and while my neurotic discussions with myself wouldn’t let me speak to her, I still wanted to make sure that she was alright. Her class schedule was still etched in my brain from countless dates and rendezvous, so I’d find ways to pass her in hallways or bump shoulders with her on the sidewalk.

  The first two months plodded by, unremarkable and boring as hell. I was starting to wonder if I’d made the right call when, once again, the Halloween party loomed large on my calendar.

  As All Hallow’s Eve filled Ohio State with fun and debauchery, I holed up in my room, restless. My social group pleaded with me to go, but what was the point? I’d just wander aimlessly and drink some of that foul punch before it got dumped, all the while trying to avoid a certain bumblebee. In an attempt not to think, I idly “cleaned” my room for an hour, only to discover that I’d just been moving stuff around, not actually improving the state of the room. I threw a shirt into the laundry basket in frustration. I couldn’t keep hiding like this! This was supposed to be a normal life, which meant that I had to start treating it that way. On that note, I snatched the shirt that I’d just thrown out of the basket, gave it a sniff, shrugged, and threw it on.

  I didn’t have the time or patience for a real costume, so I rifled through the closet and found a leather jacket that I hadn’t worn in ages. When in doubt, go greaser. After a quick battle with some hair gel, I jogged outside toward the party. A spark of my old personality caught and started a small fire in me, burning with anticipation to get out with the crowd. As the pulse of music grew louder, however, that fire dwindled. I realized that the last time I went to this party, I’d left campus immediately after and gone on a crime spree. It also occurred to me that my logic from moments earlier was flawed; this wasn’t a normal life, and it could never be. No matter how much I blended in, regardless of the decisions I made, it would always be freshman year. Somehow, I’d let myself forget that, but now it struck me full force.

  I sat down on the hill outside of the frat house, listening to the muffled music and shouts bleeding through the walls. I let my mind run free for a while, dropping the careful control that I kept up most of the time. My research drifted into my train of thought, pleading to be put to use. The “if onlys” promptly followed. If only I’d been able to find a way past the Rubber Band effect. If only I hadn’t misused my abilities. If only I hadn’t had those abilities at all. That last one comprised almost all of my daydreams at this point. Without my curse, I’d be going about my life, probably living it up at this party, not a care in the world except those of an average schmuck. Instead, I’d redefined the phrase “long year” and chased elusive happiness like a sloth trying to run down a cheetah.

  I shook my head, as if those thoughts were cobwebs that I could just wish away. The damage was done, I had absolutely no desire to go inside anymore. I decided to go for another walk. It’d become habitual; when something was getting me down, I’d wander around campus. As I rounded the corner of the frat house, I was startled by the sounds of a woman’s sobs. Caught off guard, I hesitated, unsure if I should follow the sound to the source or creep away so as not to disturb her. The decision was made for me. I swear a phantom hand swatted the back of my head lightly, accompanied by the familiar scolding of Mama Jean. Of course you have to go to her! Chivalry, boy! I scowled automatically, forgetting for a second that she wasn’t actually there. Still, the hesitation had passed. I stepped out into the backyard.

  You know, for all the impossible things that I can do with time, I can’t make it stand still. But she could. Wire frame wings caught the porch light, forming dancing shadows on the fall grass. The rest of the costume was yellow, black, and soaked in punch. I swallowed hard. Guess my memory of this year wasn’t perfect after all. It had slipped my mind that Tara ended up the victim of the punch disaster if I wasn’t there to yank her out of the way. Her shoulders shook, and I wondered if it was from sobbing or from the cold. Another imagined hand slapped me, a bit harder this time. I slipped off my jacket and took a few halting steps toward her.

  Tara’s blue eyes turned up towards me, and I stopped dead in my tracks, seconds away from bolting like a scared rabbit. She searched my face, her expression almost as nervous as I felt. Evidently, it’d been a bad night. I held up the jacket, eyebrows raised, silently asking Want this? She didn’t respond, but she didn’t wave me off either. Carefully draping the coat over her shoulders, I scrounged for something to say. Nothing, came to mind, so I turned to go. Her surprise and curiosity was practically burning a hole in my back as I started to leave, so in a last ditch effort, I looked over my shoulder and said…..nothing.

  I swore mentally. What is it about this girl that turns me into the world’s most pathetic sad sack? I was almost in the shadows, safe from any judgmental glances when she spoke.

  “Hey,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “It’s fine,” I muttered gruffly. That tree was sure fascinating. I decided to stare exclusively at that tree.

  Silence. I must have looked like a freak; back to her, fists clenched, staring ferociously into the woods. I didn’t turn to look
at her. I couldn’t let her think that we knew each other.

  “Do we know each other?”

  Damn.

  “No.” I faced her and shook my head vehemently. “I don’t think so.”

  “Huh. I’m sorry.” She started to take off the jacket, but I gestured for her to keep it.

  “Looks like you need it more than I do.”

  She smiled and pulled it back around her.

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure,” I said, my body already pointed away from the conversation. I was torn between the desire to stay and attempt to use my words, and the instinct to get out and get out now. You think this will end well for her, buddy? Remember who you are.

  “Don’t leave without your jacket. I won’t need it long, I promise.”

  I rotated back to her guiltily. She clearly saw how twitchy I was and felt bad for me. Great. Now I’d be the “weird jacket kid” to her. I liked it better when she didn’t know who I was.

  “Do you want to sit?” she asked. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

  I shrugged awkwardly, hoping that the tension that I felt didn’t show. I settled on the porch, keeping a solid foot of space between us. Her confusion was palpable; I figured it was better than her sobbing alone in the cold. Still I was pretty worried. She had this habit of-

  “Tara,” she said by way of introduction, offering a small hand through the folds of the jacket.

  -talking to complete strangers. I sighed.

  “Ryan.” We shook.

  “Freshman?”

  I almost shook my head “no”, but caught myself.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “In all it’s glory,” she complained, gesturing to her soaked costume.

  “Rough night?”

  She laughed bitterly.

  “Yeah, but that’s most nights here, so why did I expect this one to be different?” She angrily brushed away the wet lines left on her face by her tears. “I thought this would be better, you know?”

  “The party?” I asked.

  “College. But it’s not, it’s just like high school! The guys are animals, the girls are petty, and everyone’s just trying to find a way to survive. I mean, is this what the next four years will be like??”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that,” I said unthinkingly. Luckily, she misinterpreted it as an attempt to comfort her, instead of an admission of guilt on my part. She patted my hand with a “that’s sweet” smile.

  “I hope so. I don’t know if I can stay here if it keeps going the way it has. Some days…..some days, I just feel like hitting the road and heading off someplace else.”

  “Where?”

  She threw her arms out to the sides emphatically.

  “Anywhere! Any place where there are people I can talk to, people I can connect with. I haven’t made one real friend since I got here.”

  I cocked my head curiously.

  “You came here by yourself?”

  “No, I came here with my roommate, but she’s off exchanging saliva with some football player.”

  “Is she wearing a Princess Leia costume?”

  Surprised, she glanced up at me.

  “Yeah, how’d you-“

  “Lucky guess.”

  “We’re not really that close,” she said. “Sure, we hang out sometimes, but we have nothing in common and we definitely don’t have the same taste in friends. God, why can’t I just be somewhere else right now?”

  Her face painted a picture for me in that moment. Her expression reflected the same feeling that I’d let fester for decades; she wanted to run. That frail, human part in all of us was tugging her hand like a scared child, pleading with her to avoid struggle. This party hadn’t caused her earlier sobbing. It had just been the trigger. Tara wasn’t happy, and in my desperation to avoid talking to her, I’d failed to notice.

  I awkwardly reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. She glanced at me quickly out of the corner of her eyes, but she didn’t move away. I’d had a plan of what I’d say to her seconds earlier, but now I found myself tearing up the script. I cleared my throat.

  “Look, Tara…college, and life for that matter...they’re always harder than you hope. Sometimes you make mistakes, or end up someplace you don’t want to be, like a fat guy washing up on an island of cannibals.”

  Her surprised chuckled gave me enough encouragement to keep going.

  “And just like those cannibals, the world likes people with guts.”

  She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise.

  “So are you saying that being fat would solve all my problems?”

  I grinned.

  “No, I’m saying that if you bail out of here and hitchhike your way to, I don’t know, New York, you’ll find out that you’re not escaping, you’re just…postponing. There’s always going to be another rough patch and another opportunity to run from it. I know, I wrote the book on the subject. But-”, I paused, suddenly realizing that I wasn’t talking about her anymore, “-if you stay, you can save yourself a world of pain and a life without the one thing you couldn’t stand to lose.”

  A heavy silence fell over the two of us. I wished I’d stopped while I was ahead.

  “And what’s that one thing?” she asked quietly.

  Caught off guard, I turned to her to respond, and for the first time during the conversation, our eyes met. They were still that ridiculous shade of blue, the sort of color that on anyone else, I’d assume was the product of contacts. Right now, they were filled with surprise, curiosity, and a touch of laughter. She wasn’t laughing at me, though. Tara’s eyes always had a spark of joy in them, though I realized now that it had been absent when I’d first found her tonight.

  Crap, she’d asked me a question.

  “I…I don’t know.”

  She stood and stretched, reaching for the sliver of moon visible through the clouds. Satisfied, she slid off the jacket and handed it back to me.

  “Well, when you figure it out, let me know.” She smiled. “It was great talking to you, Ryan.”

  And with that, the bumblebee drifted off, headed in the direction of the dorms, not the party.

  “You too!” I called to her retreating shadow, then quietly to myself: “You too.”

  I threw my jacket back on, suddenly able to feel the cold again. With Tara gone, I became aware of my body again, and it was complaining about the temperature. It also brought my heart to my attention. The poor guy was pounding away like a deranged jackhammer. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or excitement that changed its rhythm from a waltz to a tango. If I had to put money on it, I’d say it was probably both. As I wandered back to my room, I mentally replayed our conversation again. I barely remember crashing onto the bed and drifting off to sleep. The last conscious thought that I had was of that talk with Tara. It had only been four hundred years overdue.

  ****

  The sun rose, and with it came all sorts of problems. One, what was I supposed to do know? I’d talked to Tara. I’d been friendly with Tara. I’d found out that Tara was lonely and struggling to find her place in school. My classic “white knight” syndrome was resurfacing and it took every ounce of willpower that I had to shove it back down.

  The second problem was embedded in the first. My own rationality was fighting against me. I knew deep down that the closer that I got to her, the greater the temptation became to do something stupid. Something like jumping, or God forbid, asking her out. You’re probably wondering why that would be such a bad thing. I know I was. I just had this instinct, for lack of a better word, and it was warning me off. If by some miracle she went out with me, I couldn’t guarantee that my addiction wouldn’t resurface. After all, it always started off benign; I’d jump to help others at first, but that logic would quickly spiral out of control and throw me head long back into the dragon’s claws. I couldn’t take that chance. I’d never forgive myself if I hurt her again.

  That was the crux of it: fear. The worry that a relationship would push me back over the bri
nk had inspired my earlier game of hide-and-go-stalk with her. Watching over her was enough at the time, but after this conversation….I wanted more. The desire to go find her wrestled with the fear of what might happen, tumbling around in my skull in their perpetual fight to the death.

  I know that you’ve been in this position before. You understand. Remember when you called your crush for the first time? Middle school hormones racing through you, butterflies dancing a rumba in your stomach as you dialed that number. There were two voices in your head: the physiologically driven chatterbox trying to persuade you that this phone call would be the gateway to bigger and better things, and the socially conscious wallflower pleading with you not to embarrass yourself. Unfortunately, you did. That voice crack cursed you with chronic nervousness about phone calls for the next few years.

  That’s the position that I was in. The schizophrenic bickering was driving me crazy. I felt like a cartoon character with an angel and a devil riding on my shoulders and tugging at my ears. Trouble was, I couldn’t tell which voice was looking out for my best interests.

  I did the only thing that I could do: I blew off classes and friends for three days and concentrated on another unsolvable problem. I’d let those first couple months slid by without theorizing or even thinking deeply about loop closure. When I’d decided to return to college, I had unconsciously surrendered to the fact that I had no idea how to breach the Rubber Band effect. Without that critical piece of the puzzle, loop closure was pointless. I’d simply given up.

  Now, I turned to it as a distraction, the way a dog chews on a bone; he doesn’t get any nutrition from that bone, but it’s nice to have something to do. In case you haven’t noticed, processing time-travel conundrums kind of consumes all of your brain power, so I hoped that by picking up where I’d left off, I could silence the ongoing debate playing in my head.

  How can I describe the process of getting back into the research? Let’s go with “vexing beyond measure”. I had no data to build from, not one single example of breaking through the barrier. I wish that I did. That would’ve saved me the bruises from hitting my head against the wall. In order to get anywhere, I started spit-balling, tossing any crazy idea into the water and hoping it would float. Nothing did. No matter how I worked it out in my head, I would still arrive too late.